


Wet Dog Smell

by orphan_account



Series: Brothers [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Brothers, FEELS~, Gen, angstage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meteorologists don’t know jack these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Dog Smell

**Author's Note:**

> So this took a longer time to finish because my computer is a fucking retard and decided to shut itself off without saving the AutoRecover file. Yeah. This might be roller coaster-esque and trippy (when is it not?), and while there is funny parts, there are also huge dramatic parts, since I can’t seem to balance out my humor meter and drama meter. Uhm, there are a few Rain Man references; one of them is obvious, the other two not so much. Also, there is much more to this story on FF.Net; I'm just uploading it here at a snail's pace because I'm lazy and in the middle of an editing period. Yeah. Look at my smarts.

He quickly kicks the door shut with the force of an adult elephant (whoa, where’d all that strength come from?), releasing about a gallon of air from his lungs as he presses himself against the wooden plank. He decides to just stand there for a few moments, feeling too soaked and nasty and _ugh_ to move.

You see, about halfway through work, it started raining _buckets upon buckets_. That old idiom about cats and dogs? Zoo animals would be more accurate in this case. And I mean, it was _horrible_ , mostly since the weather was perfectly sunny and warm and bright before the random squall, but also because of the sheer amount of water falling out of the sky. It’s almost scary how fast and how hard it happened, and it _hasn’t_ stopped. For an hour and a half. The weatherman said there would be a ten percent chance of rain today. _Ten percent_.

Meteorologists don’t know jack these days.

Loki sniffs, pulling away from the door and easily grounding himself. His clothes feel heavy as fuck despite the fact that they aren’t very excessive (a Beatles t-shirt and skinny jeans isn’t much considering the time of year), and the emergency hoodie and backpack (that is thankfully _not_ mesh) he’s handling seem to weigh a thousand pounds, so he nearly trips onto his face from the inertia and vertigo that swings his way. Loki’s hair is slick and sticking unpleasantly to his neck, and he can already feel it curling up at the ends in response to the heat inside the house. His nose drips wetly; he senses a cold creeping around the corner. Fuck.

“Loki!” Thor bellows from down the hall, and Loki really just wants to kick himself in the face now. He knows Thor’s going to want to tell him some terribly exaggerated story about how he owned this freshman or scored a date with that cheerleader, how he managed to (insert outrageous verb) a (insert ridiculous noun) or (and these are the ones Loki is ninety-nine percent sure are completely _false_ ) outwit a teacher, which is a highly improbable if not impossible feat. How can Thor even _dream_ of outsmarting a professor when he can barely accomplish triumph over his own brother in those matters?

Groaning (but actually _whining_ , more like) softly, Loki takes a step forward and outright curses at the _disgusting_ feeling and sound of rainwater squishing in his shoes and between his toes. He’ll have to fucking _wash and dry_ his Converse tonight, and _God_ , does he hate that. With an irritated huff, Loki bends down and yanks his shoes and socks off, tossing them against the wall next to the door to be picked up later. Just as he begins to walk again, Thor skids into the doorway leading to the hall, clad in only a green tank-top and athletic shorts (Loki doesn’t really blame him for it; it’s fucking _hot_ ). The wide grin on Thor’s face disappears as soon as he sees the dripping, wilting mess that is Loki, morphing into a weird amalgamation of surprise, pity, and amusement.

“Hey, Rain Man,” Thor greets his brother, moving forward to meet him. He crosses his thick, muscular arms over his equally muscular chest and screws his face up into something mildly bemused, smiling carefully like if he isn’t too cautious, he’ll explode into hysterical laughter. And even though a wet and weepy Loki isn’t _that_ funny (except it kind of is but not really yeah), Loki can’t find it in him to spite his brother for it. At least he’s _trying_ not to be a douche.

“Bonjour, mon frère,” Loki sighs, pushing past Thor to walk down the hallway and into his room. He carelessly drops his backpack and hoodie on the floor, plucking his sopping t-shirt away from his body and listening to Thor’s heavy footsteps following after him. A warm zephyr hits his stomach as the dark fabric of his shirt pulls away from his skin, and Loki shivers pleasantly at the sensation. That is, until the warmth turns into icy coldness and _fuck_ , does Loki hate summer and the weird weather it brings.

“Hello, what?” Thor attempts to translate as he crowds into the doorway, watching Loki like a curious child. Actually, a lot of things about Thor remind Loki of a kid; a nosy, boisterous, gluttonous, messy child. He would find it endearing if it weren’t for the negative repercussions that came with his brother’s attitude.

“ _Good day, my brother_ ,” Loki easily corrects (did you know that he can speak French almost as fluently as he can English?). He tugs more at his shirt, pausing for a moment before just deciding he really doesn’t give a flying fuck (I mean, there isn’t a part of him Thor hasn’t seen before, and vice versa) and peeling the article off and over his head. He throws it aside to join his jacket and backpack, making his way over to his dresser to dig around for a fresh shirt. And that’s when he notices that he doesn’t have a faceful of pissy, devoted canine.

Where the hell is Fenrir?

 _First my food, now my goddamn dog?_ , Loki bitterly muses.

“Loki, you won’t believe what happened over lunch today. There was some freshman lurking around our table, tryin’ to talk to Steve or something, and he was real scrawny and had this nasally voice almost worse than ‘master Lehnsherr’s…,” Thor begins, his voice full of enthusiasm, and Loki already hates the tale he’s telling. He hates it because he knows that last year, had he not been the infamous Thor Skywalker’s _baby brother_ and the best friend of that alcoholic psycho Tony Stark (who doubled as Steve’s BFF and could kick your ass into next year), he’d be _that_ freshman. The one getting humiliated daily by Steve Rogers and the mighty Elysian Lions. The one at the bottom of the food chain, hated because of his sarcasm and wit and, oh. Let’s not forget that he was a _freshman_.

Thor might’ve always been there to kick some major tail when the upperclassmen dared harass or fuck with his _baby brother_ (ugh), but when the water stopped rippling and Loki was alone, licking wounds that were mental instead of physical, he was nowhere in sight. That’s where Tony came in.

And even now, the only reason why _anybody_ in Thor’s group of friends might appreciate Loki is because of… well, because of how he looks. Because his lithe form is supple and dapper, because he’s got curves that are gamine and lean in a way that suggests something feminine. Because his eyes are big and expressive like a girl’s, his hair thick and silky like a girl’s, his voice smooth and sensual _like a **girl’s**_. To be fair, Steve knows and likes him better than most of Thor’s friends because of Tony and because of time, but you get the picture. Loki’s looks are what garners him so much attention from people like Fandral and Logan and Hercules. To make things even _sadder_ (because things are always sad concerning Loki), Loki didn’t initially capture _Tony’s_ interest with his personality, but with his appearance. Yeah. The first thing Anthony Stark ever said to him was _Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?_.

So instead of listening to Thor’s bullshit story, Loki interrupts him with, “Where’s Fenrir?”

And then Thor takes a million and a half years to comprehend his _simple_ question. He blinks a couple hundred times, brows furrowing, and _holy fucking **shit** on a popsicle stick, Thor_. Loki’s getting really aggravated with the fact that he was to speak in what’s almost Broken English at a speed of negative two in order for his brother to understand him.

When Thor _finally_ answers his question, it’s a blithe “I dunno,” and he shrugs. He _shrugs. **Shrugs**_ **.**

And, oh no, it’s not a heavy, pained shrug, not one of those humbled and thoughtful shrugs, or even a gentle rising of the shoulders that suggests concern for whether Loki blows the fuck up or not. No, no, no. It’s a perfectly flippant, nonchalant shrug that clearly says **_I dunno_** as well as **_I really don’t give a fuck_**.

“Excuse me?” Loki replies, disbelief and irritation coloring his voice. He shuts his dresser drawer and deftly moves to grab his hoodie from the floor once more, shrugging the unpleasantly damp, slightly too large article on because he _is not_ going outside wearing a clean shirt. “You’ve been home for an hour and a half, possibly _longer_ , and you have no idea where the fuck my dog is?” he challenges as he presses past Thor to fly down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Well, I’m not his fucking babysitter,” Thor calls after Loki, and by the sound of how close his voice is, he’s trailing him.

Loki lets out a frazzled noise as he thrusts onto the patio, a huge gust of rain and wind hitting him in the face as soon as he’s outside.

“Well, _boo-fucking-hoo_ , Thor!” he retorts irritably, his eyes immediately landing on Fenrir’s crouched, waterlogged form in the middle of the yard. The husky could’ve been sitting there since the rain first started to fall. Wait, scratch _could have_.

Loki runs out into the yard, minutely cringing at the really gross feeling of slippery grass and squishy mud underneath his bare feet with _every. Fucking. Step._ Fenrir jumps up as soon as Loki’s close enough, barking in what is most likely happiness (but could also be aggravation because, hey, wouldn’t you be thinking _Why the fuck did you leave me outside all day?_ if you were him?) and practically ramming into his master’s legs. I’m sorry; I meant to say _and ramming really hard into his master’s skinny-as-fuck legs_. Loki slips backwards and falls _hard_ on his ass, his whole backside getting splashed with muck and water in the process.

You know, Loki’s pretty sure that there is a deity somewhere in existence harboring a loathing of epic proportions for him. It’s very plausible to believe that supernatural beings in the sky sit around thinking of at least one shitty thing to happen to him every day for whatever reason. Loki’s guessing it might have to do with the fact that he’s an incredibly sarcastic and acerbic human being, or because he’d been blessed (cursed) with a radical, unorthodox mind, or because he denies Tony’s affections, or because he’s remained jealous of Thor and resentful of his father for years, or for any number of these reasons and the like. Yeah.

“Boo-hoo? Well, I’m _so sorry_ that I’m too exhausted from practice to tend to your beast of a dog!” Thor yells from the semi-safety of the doorway with incredulity dripping from his tone, like he absolutely cannot _believe_ Loki’s insolence. Which is stupid, because when is Loki _not_ being an audacious prick?

“Yes, _boo-hoo_ , Thor,” Loki angrily calls back as Fenrir clumsily crawls into his lap, muddying his front with his huge, filthy paws and licking his whole face off, “I’m terribly apologetic if you can’t go _across the fucking universe_ that is my house to check on my goddamn dog, because of course, _he_ isn’t a living thing!”

Growling exasperatedly, Loki grabs Fenrir’s collar, stumbles in what is possibly the most graceful way to stumble to his feet, and drags Fenrir (probably rougher than is really necessary, but hey; when Loki’s in pain, _everyone_ deserves to be in pain, right?) onto the patio and out of the pounding, torrential rain. Thor is standing like a giant boulder in the doorway, his face a dreadful mask of agitation and superiority (Loki really hates it when Thor makes _that_ face; the first time he did, he was thirteen and Loki was twelve, and Thor was fussing at his younger brother for wanting to go hang out with him and his friends at the park. Loki cried horribly for hours after, and no amount of comforting Frigga could offer him would cease his terrible weeping. Now, every time Loki sees _that_ face, a small part of him wants to cry just as he did when he was twelve).

“Get out of the way, please and thank you,” Loki snaps at Thor, gratitude nowhere to be found and venom in great abundance in his tone. Fenrir’s growling and twitching at Thor, ears back and tail straight as a rod, and the dog’s pissiness only serves to intensify Loki’s. Like owner like dog, right? (Okay, that was just a weird thing to say, but you get the picture.)

“That’s not very po– _Fuck!_ ”, Thor argues, the last exclamation uttered when Loki unceremoniously shoves him out of the way to get into the kitchen. After he’s done it, Loki realizes how incredibly foolish it was to _shove Thor_ , because he’s _Thor_ , and like a wild dog, when you bite him, he bites back. Harder. So, while it’s a bad idea to work on Thor’s nerves with words, it’s definitely a horrible, senseless, borderline suicidal idea to punch/push/kick/slap/etc. the man. Loki turns to face Thor.

Thor looks like he’s enduring the most brutal of internal battles, because his eyes are practically burning out of his head as he glares at Loki, and his fists keep clenching and unclenching, the veins in his arms popping up darkly on his skin. He looks like he’s considering whether to simply walk away or beat the living shit out of Loki with his bare hands. And Loki is just standing there, _watching_ him with the most infuriatingly indifferent expression on his face, Fenrir snarling and clawing the ground at his side. Covered in mud and disheveled as fuck, Loki makes a pretty intimidating sight. Completely and obviously losing his cool, Thor does, too.

And then Thor sighs, averting his glowering eyes to the glass doors and the patio beyond and grumbling, “Alright, Loki.”

Loki almost gasps at the gripe, his jaw falling open for a moment before he forces himself to clench it shut. He both criticized and shoved Thor, and he’s not being pummeled into the ground? That’s something that could only be called a miracle, divine intervention, or an impossibility.

Why isn’t Thor beating him up? Why ishe admitting that Loki is _right_? That’s the second time in a week he’s done that, and it doesn’t compute or add up correctly. The law of the universe states that when Loki sasses Thor, Thor skins Loki. That’s just the way it is. Something is off, and Loki can feel it more and more the longer he stands in the kitchen, watching his brother restrain himself.

But Loki dares not point the fact out, because he’s smarter than that. Instead, he changes the subject ever so slightly with, “Can you hold Fenrir?”

Thor whips his head around to blink at Loki, eyes wide and disbelieving because Loki is basically asking him to commit suicide (and Thor has never had a death wish, no matter how many stupidly risky situations he gets himself into).

“What?” he asks in a shocked, clipped voice, his brows shooting towards his hairline.

Loki frowns a tiny little frown, elaborating, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m absolutely filthy and I need to change my clothes. I’m not having Fenrir fuck up my carpet with his dirty paws, so I need you to keep him here. Can you please do that?” He shifts his focus between Thor and the floor a few hundred times as he says this, unwilling to look at his brother straight for whatever reason.

Thor watches him warily for a few extraordinarily lengthy moments, the gears in his head turning audibly as he does, and _oh my God_. It was an easy fucking question, Thor, you don’t have to think so _long_ and _hard_ about it.

“I’ll be thirty seconds, I promise,” Loki adds earnestly, partially out of uncharacteristic impatience, and it occurs to him that it’s been a really long time since he last swore something to Thor. Hell, it’s been _years_ since he’s made his brother a promise, and that last time, it was a promise that they’d never be the same again, that they’d be brothers only in blood; not in spirit.

The significance of that might not be lost on Thor, because he starts moving forward, hesitantly agreeing with a slow, “Okay…”

The closer Thor gets, the more agitated Fenrir becomes, and by the time Thor is an arm’s length away from him, the husky is snarling like crazy, twisting violently in Loki’s grip and pounding at the ground with his paws. It still doesn’t make sense why Fenrir starts to instantly PMS in Thor’s presence, even though defensiveness and a tendency to be territorial are basic parts of the dog’s personality.

“Calm down, Fenrir!” Loki barks out of unadulterated frustration, quickly letting go of the husky’s collar only to tightly grip the scruff of his neck just as rapidly. It’s a tactic he’s been using since Fenrir was a puppy, and what do you know? As soon as his scruff is seized, Fenrir goes still and submissive, coolly sitting back on his haunches. Thor gives Loki an apprehensive look anyways, his hand hovering uncertainly above Fenrir’s neck, and it’s almost funny to see a man as pompous and daredevil as Thor scared of a goddamn husky.

Loki responds to Thor’s expression with saddened eyes, evenly instructing, “Just take hold of his scruff like I’m doing. He’ll calm down if you do that.” He watches as Thor carefully follows his instructions, smiling a bit in spite of himself when his brother takes Fenrir’s collar in his other hand just in case. As soon as Fenrir is securely in Thor’s grip, Loki swiftly moves to the kitchen door, preparing to dash down the hallway.

“Don’t let go! He’ll kill you!” Loki calls back as an afterthought, advancing down the hallway in long strides (thank God for awesome, Twizzler legs). He hears Thor’s answering laugh just as he enters his room, and he bites his lip to deter the stupid chuckle fighting to escape him.

What the hell is up with Thor? It’s not normal for him to be so… what’s the word? Restrained? No. Respectful? Too generous. The most accurate thing to say would be that he’s avoidant of any animosity between himself and Loki, which is really fucking unusual. When they were teenagers, it seemed like he lived for the rivalry they harbored for one another. Last year, when they didn’t live together, while he didn’t actively seek out enmity with Loki, Thor wouldn’t hesitate to start something nasty between them had the opportunity presented itself. And what about Loki?

Mood swings are normal for him; that’s a given, considering his bipolar disorder. But Loki feels like his brother’s constant presence in his home has them backtracking to their adolescence, when they were practically drowning in their own hormones and sparks would fly if they _looked_ at one another wrong. Forgiveness would come just as easily until a reason to hate came crashing through the city that was Thor and Loki, destroying buildings and killing innocents in its wake.

Loki decides not to think about it now (again, something completely out-of-character; usually Loki’s thinking himself straight to an ulcer), focusing instead on stripping his clothes off and replacing them with something clean and dry and warm and _heavenly_. He ends up with a Ziggy Stardust t-shirt (Which is also a little too big for him since Loki is one of those people with a weird, in-between shirt size; everything is either too baggy and long or too short and tight for him, thanks to Loki’s petite-yet-lanky frame. But anyways, the shirt’s too large and it hangs off of one pale shoulder; he doesn’t wear it out in public, and it seems like almost everything he wears is music-related today, right?) and a pair of dark blue gym shorts. As soon as he’s dressed, he speeds back to the kitchen, pulling his dark hair into a sloppy ponytail on the way.

When Loki staggers into the kitchen, he almost has to run back into the living room to hide the cry of laughter rising in his throat because _holy shit_ , Thor is on his back in the middle of the mud-covered floor, one tense arm shielding his face and the other pressed against Fenrir’s neck, just barely holding the dog back. The husky is _standing on top_ of Thor, barking and growling and yapping and generally being a pissed puppy at the man’s protective forearm. And the sight is absolutely fucking _hilarious_ ( _huh- **larry** -uss_), because Thor is cowering in the face of this dog he could so easily just throw off of him, and it’s happening in the middle of _Loki’s_ kitchen, and it’s perfect _perfect **perfect**_.

So instead of being a polite, wonderful human being, Loki throws his head and laughs outright, crossing his arms over his chest in a weird, victorious sort of way. Thor jumps upon hearing the cackle, and when the man peeks over his arm to pout _so flawlessly childlike_ and _wounded_ at his brother, Loki’s laughter only intensifies. It’s a dick thing to do, but Loki has been laughed at and humiliated far too many times in his life by Thor to give a fuck now. Screw his conscience. This is fucking awesome, this _feeling big_ sort of thing.

“Fuck you, Loki!” Thor growls, the end of the outcry quickly turning into what could only be called a whine when Fenrir snarls loudly at him, snapping his jaws. Loki’s relentless cackling grows hysterical in nature at that, and he’s wrapping his arms around his stomach and leaning completely against the doorway, whooping and wheezing with laughter. The man’s snickering sounds ridiculous and ugly, like a crying baby but also an elephant as well as a hyena, but it feels so incredibly _good_. He hasn’t laughed like this since that time when he and Tony got piss-drunk and sung the most amazing (and very melodious, by the way) karaoke version of _I Will Always Love You_ at Steve’s homecoming party last year.

And then Thor is practically pleading, “Loki, please. Do you _want_ me to die?”

Loki ceases his cackling for a moment to voice a shaky, “Do you want to know the real answer to that?”

Thor glares daggers at him. Loki bursts into laughter again, feeling tears springing to his eyes at the sheer humor and irony and _perfection_ of it all.

“ _Loki, **help** me_ ,” Thor begs, a note of hurt in his voice. That’s what subdues Loki; it’s the pain in Thor’s tone that makes him realize that _okay_ , he needs to stop. Thor might’ve never even considered pausing to help his brother, but you have to remember something: Loki _isn’t_ Thor.

Chuckling quietly and wiping a stray tear from his eye, Loki strolls over to where Fenrir and Thor are sprawled on the floor. With a smile that refuses to fade, he easily slips his arms under Fenrir’s stomach and heaves the husky into his arms, holding his heavy frame against his chest. Fenrir almost instantly calms down, and water seeps from the dog’s coat into Loki’s shirt, but shit. Loki’s too happy to be bothered by that anymore. He glances down at Thor, eyes twinkling with mischief. Thor scowls.

“You’re horrible, you know that?” Thor growls, pushing himself up to rest on his elbows. The anger in his voice doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and Loki thinks he can see a hint of amusement within that clear blue. Maybe. Definitely not (but probably so).

Loki grins, a real genuine _smile_ , and replies without a hint of malice, “Payback is sweet, brother.” Not waiting for Thor to answer, he shifts Fenrir into a more bearable position in his arms and starts for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Come on. I can’t bathe him by myself.” (Even though he _can_ bathe him on his own, and has been doing it for a whole year. He’s just savoring this newfound dominance over Thor for as long as he can.)

Loki only knows Thor has followed him after he’s down the hall and turning into the bathroom, with Thor’s booming voice asking, “Where’d you get your conscience, huh? I’m pretty sure you were gypped.” And you know, it feels _really good_ to have this kind of conversation with Thor, to be this easy and sarcastic without a shot of bitchiness or poison or wrath, despite the fact that Loki knows it won’t last for very long, nor will he admit it out loud (because that’s not how he rolls; straightforward just isn’t very _Loki_ , is it?).

“I bought it at K-Mart for half-off, and you know I can’t pass up a good sale,” Loki easily replies, carefully bending over to set Fenrir on the tile floor and making sure to grab the dog’s collar soon after, just so he doesn’t start mauling the shit out of Thor.

Sure enough, Fenrir begins barking and growling and fighting against Loki’s grip to get to the larger of the two-leggeds, and Loki pinches the husky’s scruff punitively, instructing Thor to, “Close the door, please.” It’s now when Loki realizes that Fenrir stinks horribly, the odor of wet dog filling his nostrils and summoning a small headache.

Thor lets out an exuberant laugh at Loki’s joke (Oh shit, where did that warm, fuzzy feeling come from, Loki? Your heart, you say? That thing that’s cold and wretched and broken? _Get out_.), doing as he’s told and kicking the door shut a bit too hard.

“I think you could get that checked out, my brother,” the blond adds, remaining a cautious distance away from Fenrir, and holy crap, if you only knew what that _my brother_ at the end of Thor’s statement does to Loki.

Instead of saying something in reply (because Loki’s pretty sure whatever happens to come out of his mouth will end up being stupid and gooey as fuck, and that is _definitely not_ how he rolls _at all_ ), Loki firmly orders Fenrir, “Stay put. No biting or attacking,” and moves to kneel by the bathtub. He quietly sighs in relief when Fenrir follows his directions, only growling softly at Thor.

“Can you get the dog shampoo and a few towels?” Loki requests as he bends over the edge of the bathtub to switch on the faucet, making sure the water is nice and warm before he clogs the tub. Fenrir is milling around behind him, occasionally swiping his sopping, muddy tail against his back.

Loki listens as Thor pokes around the shelf full of hair/skin/beauty products. When his brother makes a soft, discontented grunting noise, he glances over his shoulder and asks, “What?”

Thor turns to him, prudently dangling a stylishly curvy bottle of black polish (like, the pretty black that shines and sparkles, the kind you only see in magazines and on movie stars) between his thumb and his index (like if he actually holds it correctly he’ll spontaneously grow a vagina and a pair of breasts), questioning in his best _Why the fuck are we related?_ voice, “Nail polish?”

Loki grins impishly and holds the back of his hand up for Thor to see, wiggling his fingers to draw attention to the way the fluorescent light of the bathroom hits his perfectly noir nails. “You haven’t noticed?” he jests, watching as Thor’s bewildered expression turns surprised.

“Uhm, _no_ ,” Thor replies, replacing the black bottle on the shelf and grabbing two more. He holds them in the same overly-cautious fashion and remarks, “I didn’t know you were so fond of…” he pauses to read the bottles, “… _peacock blue_ and _danger yellow_.”

Rather than getting all flustered and embarrassed about a habit he’s extremely comfortable with (and proudly so), Loki turns back to the tub and places his hand on the bottom, checking the depth of the water. “They’re fabulous colors, aren’t they?” he counters, a laugh apparent in his voice.

Thor is silent for a few seconds before he groans, audibly dropping the nail polish back on the shelf with a grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. What’s the difference between the dog shampoo and your shampoo?”

“The dog shampoo is green and very obviously has a German Shepherd washing its hair on the bottle,” Loki sighs at Thor’s thick-headedness, killing the faucet and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face as he adds, “Mine is yellow and smells like lemon.” (That should be easy enough to decipher, am I right?)

“Well, that’s easy,” Thor concedes, and Loki can’t help but laugh at the lameness of the statement. A few moments later and the bathtub has about four inches of water in it, two old towels and a bottle of doggy shampoo sit on the toilet, and Loki and Thor are wrestling Fenrir into the tub. Wrestling because Fenrir goes fucking crazy as soon as Thor decides to be a dumbass and touch him.

“Shit, _Thor!_ ” Loki curses as he grabs at Fenrir’s hind legs and lifts him the rest of the way into the tub, bringing his arm up to wipe his water-spattered face with the inside of his forearm.

Thor responds to the glare Loki throws his way with this horribly innocent face, whining, “It’s not my fault your dog hates me! I didn’t do anything to him!” As he says this, Fenrir is growling over the edge of the tub at him, teeth bared and ears just slightly turned back. It’s almost comical.

Loki laughs wryly at the complaint, reaching over to grab the bottle of dog shampoo on the toilet. “The day you moved in, you stepped on his tail and almost fell on him,” he points out as he pops the cap of the bottle and sets it on the floor, “I’d be pretty pissed with you if I were him.”

Thor watches indignantly from where he sits cross-legged on the tile (which is kind of a funny sight, considering how bulky he is and the closeness of the bathroom) as Loki methodically starts to splash water on Fenrir’s already wet coat.

“I didn’t have to step on your tail and trip over you, and that doesn’t stop you,” he replies, and the comment hits Loki _so fucking hard_ , like a bullet in the head. Or the heart. Or both.

 

The way Thor said it. Just so conversational and blunt and _honest_ , it was, like he was talking about the shade of Loki’s hair or something. There wasn’t any inflection or underlying implications in the statement, and that’s what sucked so much about it. It wasn’t a deep thing to say, really. It wasn’t intended to make a point, and Thor most likely didn’t intend to practically… okay, fuck _practically_. He didn’t mean to break Loki’s heart with the remark, but he did. And Loki suddenly really hates him for it. Hates him because Thor is right to an extent; Loki gets pissed with him at the drop of the hat and for completely insane, irrational reasons. It’s true.

But it’s also true that Thor broke his body in a way that could be fixed, and his mind in a way that couldn’t. It’s also true that Loki has the potential to abhor Thor for this very reason. It’s _also_ true that Thor’s actions are what made him so volatile and unstable; Loki’s always been emotional, but it wasn’t until the accident that he could be considered bipolar.

Loki’s hand goes still against Fenrir’s stomach, and he stares blankly at the wet fur, the light heaviness of Thor’s words weighing on him and tugging his heart in two different directions. He can feel awful hot tears pooling in his eyes, and he bites down _hard_ on his lip so that he doesn’t scream or sob or say something terrible or say something nice.

“Loki?” Thor asks, his voice actually pretty normal and even, just a hint of worry in it. He says it like he didn’t expect Loki’s mostly invisible reaction to his words, and he can’t even see the wetness in his brother’s eyes. Of course.

Loki looks up to meet Thor’s gaze, not trying to hide the fact that he’s basically about to bawl his eyes out. The only thing that stops him from doing just that is the look Thor gets on his face as soon as he sees the pain in his eyes. It’s this expression that simultaneously says _Oh shit_ , _What’s going on?_ , and _I’m breaking up inside_.

“Loki…” Thor starts to say, reaching out towards his brother, but Loki pushes his hand away, turning back to Fenrir and forcing himself to calm down (screw this _feeling_ shit).

“No,” Loki quickly deflects, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and squeezing a generous glob of it into his hand, “Forget it. Don’t mind me.” He feels like shit saying it, because really? All he’s ever _wanted_ was for Thor to mind him. But, then again, all Loki ever does is lie, lie, _lie_ to everyone but Tony and Frigga, now. Why not stay consistent and keep it the fuck up? (Even though it ruins him.)

“But, Loki…” Thor starts to say, setting his jaw and scooting closer on the floor. He stops when Loki whips around to glare at him with hard, burning emerald eyes.

“Shut up, Thor!” he yells, shoving his hand into Fenrir’s fur without looking, his eyes trained on his brother, “Just shut the fuck up! You don’t _have_ to care about me when I’m so bipolar and stupid, okay?”

Didn't expect that, did you? (Admit it. I got you good.)

It’s just that Loki has stopped taking his emotions so seriously, figuring that most of the extreme things he feels are simply offshoots of his bipolar disorder (even though that’s completely ridiculous). Hell, he’s pretty sure that his weird feelings for Tony and the depression that winds him whenever Thor is near are merely results of the chemical imbalance in his brain; not to say he doesn’t love Tony or that Thor doesn’t affect him, because _yes_. Loki cares a whole fucking lot about Tony, and Thor actually does upset him. It’s just those moments when he feels like his skin is going to burn off if he can’t get a taste of his best friend, or like he’s going to fall through the earth into Hades because Thor is _looking_ at him that he thinks he’s just plain _crazy_. Loki doesn’t understand why Tony regards his emotions with so much magnitude (even though that’s _obvious_ ; haven’t you noticed that Tony’s practically head over heels for him?), and he’s convinced that Thor only forces himself to care at this point. What’s the point of being genuine anymore?

“What if I _want_ to care, though?” Thor bites back, raising his voice. He’s obviously cross, now, but it’s different from the way he’s usually pissed; normally Thor gets offended on his own behalf. This time, it’s like he’s hurt on Loki’s, and why is everything so _weird_ and _different_ and _upside down_ between them now?

Loki lets out a whine; a pitiful, broken, thirteen year-old whine, a couple of tears slipping down his cheeks. He can’t help it; he just feels too confused, too guilty and superior and weak and everything _wrong_. Fenrir is butting his muzzle against his forehead like he does whenever Loki gets upset, but the comfort doesn’t register.

“I don’t hate you, Loki, and I don’t exist to make your life miserable. Stop acting like it, please, because it fucking _hurts_ knowing you think so lowly of me,” Thor huffs solemnly, and he’s leaning over into Loki’s space, trying to meet his eyes, and _fuck_ , it’s too much. Loki lets out a sob because he was so blind and daft, shakes with his sadness, cries harder.

“Stop crying!” Thor exclaims, his voice breaking feebly at the end of the demand, “Stop fucking _crying_ , Loki! _Stop it!_ ”And Loki knows exactly why Thor is pleading with him to cease his weeping.

It’s because ever since they were children, as soon as the first tear fell from Loki’s eyes, Thor broke down. That was all it took. If Loki was screaming or angry or defiant, the world was still intact and Thor could still function. But if Loki was crying? Shit, it was like someone had flipped the _off_ switch on Thor, like all his nuts and bolts had come unscrewed and the ability to stay calm been obliterated. Even when their relationship totally went to shit, Thor couldn’t handle Loki’s tears. He almost cried himself the day they woke up in the hospital, when he found his brother weeping to himself, softly gasping about how _the pain is too much_.

Not thinking, Loki swiftly moves to wrap his arms around Thor’s neck, clinging tightly to his huge, foolish brother (slapping that huge chunk of shampoo onto his back, too, remember?) and biting his lip against more tears. It doesn’t take long for Thor to hug him back, practically crushing his smaller frame, and it’s an awkward, needy, stupid hug that Loki needs more than anything because he needs to feel wanted, and Thor needs more than anything because he needs Loki to _stop crying_.

It doesn’t fix everything. But it feels really good. Really good.

Five minutes later, Loki and Thor are scrubbing smelly canine shampoo into Fenrir’s fur, Loki working on the dog’s front end and Thor on the back. They don’t talk.

**Author's Note:**

> This was practically a train wreck. I’m sorry. But at least there be progress with Loki and Thor, right? Uhm, it’s gotten to the point where I’m pretty much accepting of the fact that every single one of these will turn into a jump-rope story that goes up and down and up and down; that’s the way life actually plays out, right? (Look at me shamelessly defending myself, gah.)
> 
> I’d really like to thank the people who have given me such wonderful feedback. I’m living on you guys; you have all my kisses and love. Also, don’t be afraid to point out any errors; I would appreciate it profusely if you did.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated, loves. :]


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